


STATEMENT #0212302

by taoslefteyelid



Category: EXO (Band), The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Horror, Isolation, M/M, Screenplay/Script Format, The Lonely - Freeform, mentions of a car accident, tma people look away one day i will write a proper tma fic but today..., today i will create the taohun tma cinematic universe, u know how gay ppl are, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoslefteyelid/pseuds/taoslefteyelid
Summary: Statement of Oh Sehun, regarding events leading up to a car accident on 15th January. Statement recorded direct from subject, 23rd February, 2021.
Relationships: Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Oh Sehun
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	STATEMENT #0212302

**Author's Note:**

> hello !!! i am back yet again with an extremely niche taohun concept but, hey, it be how it be. 
> 
> you can read this even if you aren't familiar with The Magnus Archives, though I will warn you there are minor spoilers to the way the tma world works in here, but I don't think it's anything that would derail your listening experience. 
> 
> for anyone unfamiliar, The Archivist of the Magnus Institute records people's ~spooky~ encounters in the form of statements for... reasons. this is simply in the form of Sehun making one such statement, formatted how you'd find a transcript of the podcast. 
> 
> the date i chose was random; this doesn't fit into canon events and is supposed to be read as a separate au !!! i have many ideas abt this,,, world (which also includes chankai in my head) and i might expand on it more, either in fic form or just on twt??? 
> 
> anyways, yes, that's all i believe!!! the [CLICK] is supposed to be the click of a tape recorder, for the uninitiated.
> 
> I hope u enjoy !!! if ur confused on any lore lmk i will try to clear it up in the least spoilery way possible fdshjahjskdf

_[INT. THE MAGNUS INSTITUTE, THE ARCHIVIST’S OFFICE]_

_[CLICK]_

**ARCHIVIST**

Right, well, er- what- what was your name again?

**SEHUN**

Sehun. 

[BEAT]

That’s S-E-H- oh, Zitao, could you- 

**ZITAO**

He’s got it right. ( _distractedly)_ Does that thing even work?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(ignoring him)_

Okay, well, I- uh, I’m going to need _you_ to leave. 

[ _THERE'S A SMALL RUSTLE, AS IF SOMEONE IS MOVING SHIFTILY]_

**ZITAO**

_(seemingly annoyed, voice darker and louder than before)_

Do I _have_ to?

**ARCHIVIST**

( _ugh_ ) Those are the rules, unless you have a statement as well- 

**SEHUN**

Zitao. I’ll be… I’ll be fine. 

[BEAT]

**ZITAO**

_Fine_. I’ll be outside.

[ _LONG, STRIDING FOOTSTEPS, THEN A DOOR CLICKS OPEN AND SHUT]_

**ARCHIVIST**

Very well, then, should we get started?

**SEHUN**

( _pointedly)_ Does it? Work, I mean. 

**ARCHIVIST**

_(sighs, then inhales deeply)_ Yes, it does work. 

**SEHUN**

Right. 

**ARCHIVIST**

Shall we get started?

[BEAT] 

Very well, then. Tell me _everything_.

Statement of Oh Sehun, regarding events leading up to a car accident on 15th January. Statement recorded direct from subject, 23rd February, 2021. 

Statement begins. 

**SEHUN (STATEMENT)**

Um- yes, do I just- just start? Okay, okay, er-

_[CHAIR CREAKING]_

Sorry. Sorry, I’m a little- the two of us, we haven’t really… been away from each other since… since I found my way back.

_(clears his throat)_

Well, yes, I guess, to start with, I should tell you about… us? Me and him, at least.

We met a few years ago; at the hospital, of all places, a year or two after I moved to London. He’d gotten his arm broken in a _sledding_ accident, and I was… visiting someone. I don’t really remember who, if I’m being honest. Think I brought them flowers.

Anyways, we found out later that we had a mutual connection? His best friend and my best friend had- have- this on-again-off-again situation going on and once we pieced it together we basically became inseparable.

Um… I don’t know how to describe it, really. We’re not dating. Yet. I think?

It’s confusing, I don’t know. I’ve been pretty much smitten with him since day one and we _live_ together, if you can believe it, and we do all the dumb couple stuff together but I think we still count under “just friends”. 

I think. 

You- you don’t really need to know this actually, uh- I don’t know why I’m _rambling_ , I’m normally never like this.

I guess I should also mention that. I’m not… usually much of a talker. Well, it kind of depends, actually. When I’m with friends, yeah, I talk a decent amount. With Jongin and Chanyeol, I get downright annoying, and with Zitao… with Zitao, I _babble_. About all the mundane little things. Makes his eyes… light up.

_(muttering under his breath)_ Get a _grip._

But yeah. Point is, I’m usually a quiet little introvert, doing my own little thing. I like my space, and I like silence, which is why living in the city is always so infuriating.

I don’t… like, here’s the thing, I don’t _hate_ the city. I was born in Seoul, and I moved to London for work. It’s just that- well, you know. It gets cloying sometimes. Too many people. Too much _mess._

If it was up to me, I’d want to get a little cottage up in the country or something. Just a small little place, away from the hustle and bustle of everything. I’d even finally learn how to cook instead of relying on takeout and Zitao’s mediocre japchae skills. 

I can’t, obviously. My whole life is in the city, all my friends, my job, Zitao’s job. I think Zitao… I think he knows, though. Knows what I want. Sometimes I catch him saving money, tucking it away whenever he can, or looking at listings for chalets in France, and he just… smiles sheepishly at me like I wasn’t supposed to find out. 

Well, anyways, these past few weeks, I’ve been having a hard time at work. I work as an editor for one of those monthly fashion magazines, I think you’d know it if you saw it. I’m not going to say their name. Don’t think they’d appreciate being involved in this. But they’re having a big 100th issue celebration in a few days and there are just so many _people._ Scurrying around all the time, asking for my approval. Honestly, it would drive even the most seasoned extrovert insane.

Shoots are falling through, everyone wants different things from different pieces, and so many _questions_. I’m lucky I’m not management, those poor bastards have their work cut out for them.

It got to a point that I started smoking again, which, I guess is kinda hypocritical considering how hard I’ve been trying to get Zitao to quit. I used to have the occasional smoke in university, but now I was using one of the packs I had confiscated from Zitao and burning through it in a week. 

Definitely not good for me, but it was just one of those times. I don’t think I’d regret it if it had just been the smoking. But it wasn’t. 

On one of my smoke breaks, I was standing against the wall of the back of our office building, which is pretty inaccessible unless you’re an employee in one of the offices. It’s why I like it. It’s quiet. _Lonely_. And then suddenly, this old man just appears out of nowhere.

I don’t mean that I blinked and I missed him or whatever. It’s just that one second he wasn’t there, and the next, he was. Like he’d… materialized. I say this now because I know things like that can happen, after what I’ve experienced. 

Back then, though, I obviously rationalized it. Told myself he was probably one of the lawyers at the law firm on the 14th floor, Lockhart-something-or-the-other, who just had unusually light footsteps, and my brain had glitched a little. 

_[AT THIS, WE HEAR HIGH PITCHED STATIC, CUTTING IN AND OUT. NEITHER THE ARCHIVIST NOR SEHUN ACKNOWLEDGES IT.]_

He asks me for a cigarette, and I give one to him. I don’t remember how he lit it; he probably used a lighter, but at this point, if I haven’t seen anything, I don’t trust it completely. 

I think his accent was Irish? I don’t really have an ear for that sort of thing, but, whatever, he started talking to me about how he usually comes out here alone, to escape the hubbub of the city, and stuff and I find myself absently nodding along. Agreeing. I tell him that the only reason I’m still in the city is because it would be hard to find good food and manicures anywhere else. That sometimes I wish I could just… be alone. 

Then he smiled at me, and I just got the worst, creeping feeling of dread, prickling all over me in waves. Have you ever listened to ASMR? It was like that but… bad. My hands started to shake, and I- I don’t know why, but I felt like I had just done something terribly, _terribly_ wrong. 

“Well, maybe someday,” he told me, and then he _winked_. That made the dread multiply, somehow, and I hastily excused myself. I think I… I think I dropped my cigarettes and just… left. 

When I got back up to my office, the dread was… it was worse, but also, I couldn’t feel it, somehow. It’s- it’s hard to describe, it was like… I knew that I was feeling more and more uneasy, but… I couldn’t bring myself to care. 

I’m a busy person at work, sure, but I’m never… I don’t think I’m cold. I don’t try to be at least. I don’t _enjoy_ the amount of human interaction I have to do, but I’m not distant. I _like_ my writers, my assistant, my coworkers. 

So when I… when I spent the rest of my day flippantly gesturing and being so… clipped, to them, I think I knew something really was horribly wrong, and my dread wasn’t misplaced. But I still… didn’t really care? 

Anyways. I was about to clock out, figured I just needed to rest, when I got a phone call from Zitao. Or… I thought it was Zitao, then, at least. I don’t know if it really was him. He doesn’t remember anything about it. 

He- it- whatever, tells me that he’s going to have… a friend over? The exact words he used were “entertaining a guest”, and he… didn’t want me around for it, and could I please find somewhere else to go, thank you very much. 

The more I think about it now, I can’t believe I thought it was Zitao. He would… never. Say something like that to me, I guess. I don’t even think he has friends I don’t know. We’ve been too close, too long. I think I was just too disconnected from things to be able to think clearly. 

But… I need you to understand, I’m not a _jealous_ person- Okay, no, that’s a lie, I am a jealous person. Not- not in a creepy, possessive way. At least, I hope not! ( _he attempts a weak chuckle)_ I just… I get upset. I hurt. Only for a very small circle of people, and Zitao is definitely… in there. 

And so when I made my way down to the parking lot, I was just- I was beside myself, you know? Like, had I misjudged our entire situation? _(huffs)_ I mean, I know we’ve got that whole ambiguously close thing going on, but I’ve always- always wanted to maybe… whatever, it’s not that important. Point is, I was upset, and when I get upset, I withdraw in on myself. 

It started raining the second I got on the road, which isn’t a big deal, but it was kind of annoying, and made it harder to see. 

Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice there was no one on the road till I was halfway to Jongin’s house. 

Not a single person. No one. Oh, sure there were cars, some of them even on the road, but they were all parked, unmoving, no one in them. No one on the streets. And that- that’s strange, right? It was rush hour, for god’s sake, but it was just… nothing. No one. 

I wish I could say that that’s when the terror gripped me. That’s when I finally started _caring,_ started paying heed to the dread, but- but I just… just kept driving. I actually… I was thankful. The drive would be quicker. 

_(quietly)_ I don’t hate people. I’m- I _don’t._ I check up on my friends- and- and I’m not _mean_ , I just- I get overwhelmed sometimes and I would rather just be in my own little corner. It doesn’t mean I want to be the only person left. 

I think I was crying, you know? I don’t know if it had started out because of annoyance at that… the Not-Zitao that had called me, or just the frustration of a long day, but as I kept driving, not caring about the fact that there seemed to be absolutely _no one_ on the street except for me… I think the part of me that was scared, the one that wasn’t indulging in this- this _apathy_ , was why I was crying. 

As I drove, I started to realise that… well, it wasn’t really a realisation. More like this dull thump in the back of my head as stuff started going foggy. 

I didn’t know where I was. I drive everyday, unless Zitao’s picking me up, and I know the streets like the back of my hand. But I just… didn’t. All the street signs, the landmarks, they were like… an incomprehensible blur to me. You know those PNG images of paint that people use all the time? It was like someone had slapped them everywhere that gave me a hint of where I was. 

Worse still, I didn’t know where I was supposed to be going. In my mind I knew I was driving to someone’s house, for some reason, but I didn’t know who, or why. Every time I tried to grasp at it, it flew away, slipping out of my grasp the way the rain was rolling down my windshield. 

_(inhale)_

I think… there was a moment where I forgot everyone. Everything. It was just me, driving alone. Like how you sometimes space out at your steering wheel, except this was… terrifying. It felt so easy though, and I swear I could feel parts of me wanting to settle in like this forever, alone and unburdened, driving wherever I _wanted_ , until I had a brief, sluggish thought about… French chalets. 

That’s when the dread finally began to creep in. I don’t know… why that was it, but it was, and my hands flew off the steering wheel as I kinda snapped out of it. Not completely, I still didn’t know where I was, and I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around any people I knew other than myself, but I stopped being _complacent_. 

Unfortunately, letting go of the steering wheel caused some… _obvious_ problems, which explains the bandages and the cast. 

_[RUSTLING, AND A SLIGHT GRUNT OF PAIN, AS IF DEMONSTRATING HIS INJURIES]_

I don’t know how I clambered out of the car, if I’m being honest. All I remember is lying on that empty, desolate road, arm probably broken and blood trickling from the gash in my forehead. I was in pain- and- and no one was there to help. Dead silence, in the heart of London at 6 pm. 

The rain, it started coming down harder then. As if it wasn’t enough that there seemed to be nobody else but me in this whole _fucking_ city, it had to seperate me from even looking at anything other than the sheets of water falling in my eyes. 

I lay there for a while, in pain, both physical and mental, as I tried to figure out… I don’t know. I just wanted to _remember._ Be not alone. And it _hurt_ , a pushing, pulsing ache, trying to put me back under that state of apathy, trying to make me _like_ it. 

I remember screaming for it to stop. Going on and on, almost hysterical. I don’t know what I was screaming at. Probably myself. 

And then, as I screamed out my last desperate “stop!!!” _,_ the rain… _stopped._ Instantly. It didn’t peter out, didn’t become a quiet drizzle, it just… stopped. One second it was rushing down with enough force to bruise me- literally, I have multiple bruises all over- and then just… gone. I don’t know if I caused it somehow, but it gave me enough strength to sit up, drenched in water and desperate. 

Somehow, a lot of stuff from my car had spilled out with me. Old tour guides, ticket stubs, loose change, the thermos I use for my coffee. I started rifling through them, desperate, trying to find something. Someone. 

It was useless. Most of the stuff was mine anyways, and nothing else seemed to stir anything. I thought I had something when I found a roll of photos, the kind you get from a photobooth, of four people, except the only face that wasn’t incomprehensibly blurred out was mine. _(laughs)_ I looked happy. I remember wondering if I’d ever look like that again, and slipped it into my pocket, defeated.

I was panicking at this point, and the lack of rain made it hard to deny how hard I was crying. My hands… well, one was broken, and the other was shaking out of control, so safe to say, I wasn’t doing very well with all the scrabbling trying to find something, _anything,_ to clutch to. 

That’s when I found the book. 

It’s nothing fancy; just a simple copy of one of those thin volumes of letters that authors sent each other, you know, the kind that they keep hidden away at those bookstores. Letters to Vera, this one was, an anthology of Vladimir Nabokov’s writings to his wife. 

I… I buy little books like this, for- for, uh, Zitao. He likes being read to- well, by me, at least. I read them out to him when he’s working on fixing something in our bum apartment, or- or when he’s working on some mindless paperwork. 

I guess that’s why the second I touched the book, I- I remembered. Him. His face, his… presence. It was kinda painful, honestly. So many years and- just so many memories, hitting me at once.

I think what hurt most was that I had forgotten him in the first place. 

I scramble to grab my phone because now I know him, I _have_ him. I don’t know if I dialled his number or if it was already ringing, it’s all covered in that same blur as the faces and the signs. 

Zitao’s voice… It was everything to me. I wanted to tell him what had happened, explain how utterly alone I was, how he was the only thing keeping me tied to the world, probably. 

I didn’t. I couldn’t do anything but cry. That horrible, heavy sobbing, over and over, and then I simply told him I loved him. Asked him to come and get me, even though I had no idea where I was. He’d find me. I had to believe that he would. If I could remember him, if I could _push through_ whatever _evil_ this was, he could find me. 

Next thing I’m consciously aware of, I’m in the hospital, Zitao fussing over me. There are people, real people, so many of them, and I cry in relief. Zitao refused to let me out of his sight, which was… good, I think. I think he thought it was more for his benefit than mine, which is fair, I have to assume that getting that phone call was traumatic, but honestly, if I’d been away from him those first few days, I don’t know what I would’ve done. 

_(soft laugh)_ He saved me. I told him as much. Don’t know how much he believes me, but that doesn’t stop him from taking me seriously, taking care of me. I don’t think he’ll ever fully understand that I’d probably have been consumed by that hellscape without him. 

Well, _(clears throat)_ that’s about it. Chanyeol told us about you people, and so we decided to drop by. I thought maybe I’d feel better but now… ha. I don’t know. 

I still have the photo with the blurred out faces, so this… it happened. It wasn’t just, head trauma or _whatever_. I would know if it was. 

You know what scares me most? It’s the fact that I- not consciously, no, but some part of me _wanted_ this. I was fine with just… floating through life alone, forever. 

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be alone again. I don’t want it to consume me.

[BEAT]

**ARCHIVIST**

...Right. Well. T-Thank you, for that. Uh, you can call your- your, uh, Zitao, inside. 

**SEHUN**

_(suddenly seeming very worked up)_ Wait, you can’t tell him _any_ of the things I said about him. I’ve hardly ever said half of those things out loud, and I do _not_ want him knowing about my- my, uh, thoughts on our situation. 

**ARCHIVIST**

Ah, yes, yes, of- of course. Don’t worry about that. 

_[SOFT SOUNDS OF PAIN, AND SHIFTING SOUNDS, AS SEHUN PRESUMABLY GETS UP TO GO CALL ZITAO]_

_(realization strikes him, and he seems apologetic)_ Oh, oh, um, keep sitting. I’ll get him instead. 

_[FOOTSTEPS; THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN, AND THE ARCHIVIST CALLS DOWN THE CORRIDOR]_

You can come in, now.

_[ZITAO WALKS IN, AND THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT. THE ARCHIVIST RESUMES HIS POSITION NEAR THE TAPE RECORDER.]_

Alright then. I think- think we’re done here. We’ll let you know if we find anything. 

**SEHUN**

You don’t have any other questions?

**ARCHIVIST**

Um, no, er- this is plenty. I’d recommend looking into counselling, perhaps. 

**ZITAO**

_(snorts)_ Rich coming from you. 

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m _sorry?_

**ZITAO**

W- _(confused)_ Sorry, I don’t know where that came from. 

**ARCHIVIST**

...Right. Look, I don’t know what-

**SEHUN**

_(quickly)_ We’ll be leaving then. Thanks, I guess. 

Zitao, help me up, please? 

[CLICK]

* * *

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends. 

Note to self: Make it clear before taking statements that crush backstories are not… necessary _or_ encouraged.

That was… deeply worrying. As far as follow up goes, we were able to confirm that Mr. Oh was involved in a car accident on the 20th of January, but that’s about it. 

I have the photos Mr. Oh mentioned right here; they are as he describes them. It doesn’t seem to be a problem with the photo, instead, it seems like the photo changes the way you look at it, so that you can only ever truly focus on Mr. Oh’s face.

_(sighs)_ Another one of… these. The Lonely is getting more and more adventurous, though that isn’t what worries me most. No, what worries me is what Mr. Oh described with the rain. The Lonely bending to his will… it sounds dangerous. 

I’m also wary of Mr. Huang Zitao, his companion. He seems to… know things. If he is what I suspect he is, I think it would be best for him to stay very, _very_ far away from the Institute. 

That does not mean that I will not be keeping an eye on these two. I somehow suspect we haven’t seen the last of them. 

_(exhale)_

End recording.

[CLICK]

**Author's Note:**

> there u go !!! i don't... write script style, like, at all, but !!! hopefully this wasn't horrible and i did this amazing podcast some form of justice. 
> 
> if u have consumed the podcast, pls share any taohun specific lore thoughts u have w me OTL i am desperate to talk abt this dfsjakdsjhf, and if u haven't i definitely recommend it !!!
> 
> ALSO if anyone wants to read this in the same format as the transcripts for the show lemme know the gdoc i wrote this in is formatted that way and i'd be happy to share. 
> 
> but thank you so so so much for reading!!! i hope u have an amazing day. 
> 
> you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hztwsx) and [Tumblr](https://taohun.tumblr.com).


End file.
